The Bucket List
by The Plaid Shirt
Summary: "Fancy, come on.  We didn't come all the way to New York City for you to back out now.  We're going to the top of the Empire State Building, whether it breaks off and we plunge to our deaths or not."
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Bucket List  
><strong>Author: <strong>pen_traveler  
><strong>Fandom: <strong>Glee  
><strong>Rating: <strong>R  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>If I owned Glee, Max Adler would be a regular by now.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>In the days following On My Way, Dave and Kurt reevaluate the goals in their lives and vow to help each other achieve them. "Fancy, come on. We didn't come all the way to New York City for you to back out now. We're going to the top of the Empire State Building, whether it breaks off and we plunge to our deaths or _not._" 

The most frustrating thing was that he couldn't stop thinking about it. The tortured pain in Mr. Shue's face as he gestured for Kurt to join him in the hall, the hand that rested consolingly on his shoulder, the compassion in the too-bright eyes as he slowly and carefully outlined what had happened. The speed with which Kurt had pulled out his cell phone and stared in disbelief at the nine calls he had deliberately ignored. Looking back, he knew that he shouldn't have checked Facebook so quickly after hearing the news, and when he read the comments, the cruel and twisted posts, on David's _wall, _for the entire world to see, for - no, no one could be that evil, right? - for _David_ to see, he'd darted to the nearest restroom and slammed the door on the stall closed in just enough time for his lunch to find the toilet.

And, later, the tears. Gaga, he'd shed so many of them that his teachers had stopped addressing him at all, choosing to leave him to his black cloud in peace. Blaine found him at some point - during class? In between? He wasn't even sure. - and without saying a word, had drawn Kurt into a comforting and loving embrace. "It's okay," he'd whispered against Kurt's hair as the older boy had sobbed.

"It's not okay," Kurt had blubbered back. "He-he thought I was his friend."

"You are his friend," Blaine had assured him quietly. "You _are. _Kurt, he . . . It's not too late to fix it. He didn't die."

Kurt blinked against the onslaught of memories. It would do no good to obsess about something that he couldn't change, and no matter how often those nine ignored calls crossed his thoughts, it still didn't change the past - he hadn't answered. But, it was like Blaine had said - Dave's suicide attempt had been a _failed _suicide attempt, and by the grace of whatever Fates existed in the world, Kurt wouldn't have to live with Dave dying, thinking he was alone. Kurt had been given a chance to set it right and he would. He would help David however he could, and he'd be the best fucking friend the jock could imagine. He'd be . . . _more _than he'd been in the days following Valentine's Day.

He rolled over in bed, and checked the digital time on his phone again. One fourteen in the morning - exactly two minutes since he'd last looked. If he couldn't turn all these awful thoughts off and get some sleep he'd be in big trouble when he faced his Physics test in the morning. He debated calling Blaine, but Blaine got a little bitchy if he didn't get in his full eight hours and Kurt was pretty sure his nerves couldn't handle a fight with his boyfriend at this time of night.

He scrolled though his contacts, not sure exactly who he was looking for, but when his eyes located on the name _Dave _(promoted from _David Karofsky _because the minute Kurt had entered his hospital room things had shifted for them somehow) he hesitated for only a moment before gently pressing it to make the call. He felt a shot of nervousness pierce the pit of his stomach, but he ignored it impatiently. Yes, there was a slight chance that Dave would be none too thrilled to be woken at one in the morning, but as far as Kurt knew he hadn't made a decision about where he was going to finish his studies, so he allowed himself to hope that Dave wouldn't be asleep yet.

The phone rang once, twice, and just as Kurt decided he'd have to make another attempt at counting sheep, a deep voice answered. "Kurt? Is everything okay?"

Well he didn't _sound _as if Kurt had yanked him away from Dreamland, which was a good sign. Nevertheless, "Did I wake you?"

Dave let out a low chuckle. "Definitely not."

Kurt was silent for a moment, contemplating. He was the one that had called Dave, but now that he had him on the line, his voice was having a hard time forming the words. But he'd never get to sleep if he didn't get this out, so he took a deep breath. "Dave, can I ask you something?"

"Well, my therapist says I need to be more open. You know, break down boundaries or some shit. So shoot."

"Didyouhateme?" He spit out the words so quickly he wasn't sure they translated to English, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Did you hate me?" Tears immediately formed in the corners of his eyes and he had to roll his eyes at himself. Honestly.

"Hate you," Dave repeated, and the tone in his voice said he'd never heard anything more ludicrous. The knot in the pit of Kurt's stomach lessened slightly. "What, when I was looping the belt around my neck?"

Kurt flinched against the icy-cold feeling that surrounded his heart at the mere mention of what happened that week. It reminded him of the cold of a slushie facial. He licked his lips. "Yes."

"No," Dave answered, the smallest amount of anger filtering into his voice. "Kurt, I've told you, you can't feel bad about what I chose to do!"

"I know." But he couldn't find it in himself to be more convincing with his lie. If he'd just answered the phone _one _fucking time. If he hadn't been so scared that Dave would - what? Beg Kurt to date him until he agreed? If he hadn't been so self-absorbed, if he'd thought to himself _well, I did just tell Dave that we could be friends. Maybe he has problems that have nothing to do with me _he could have saved himself all this guilt. He could have saved Dave 72 hours in a hospital to make sure he didn't make another attempt on his own life and an ugly red burn across his neck that still hadn't completely faded when Kurt had visited him.

And the worst 'If' of all: if Mr. Karofsky hadn't found him in time . . .

"Kurt!" Dave's sharp voice snapped Kurt out of his tortuous thoughts and yanked him back into the present. "Kurt, listen to me. Are you listening?"

Kurt sighed. "Yes, I'm listening."

"Do you know what I was thinking about when I stepped up on that chair?"

He was almost too scared to ask. "What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I was thinking that I'd never get to go to a Panthers' game."

It was just about the _last _answer Kurt was expecting, and he couldn't stop the corners of his lips from tilting up the tiniest bit. "Really?"

"Yep. See, my grandfather has a small place in the mountains in North Carolina." Kurt could hear the smile in Dave's voice and it inexplicably relaxed him. "And for as long as I can remember, every single time we crossed the state lines I'd start. '_Daaaaaad. Can we _please _go see the Panthers? Pleeeease.' _ And he always told me the same thing." He paused for dramatic effect. "'_The Panthers suck.'"_

Kurt couldn't fight a laugh as Dave continued.

"The year my grandfather bought me a Panthers' blanket for Christmas my dad didn't speak to him for a week. His loyalty for Dallas runs deep, I guess. It's where he was born. Anyway, _that's _what I was thinking about. If you've got it in your head that I was spending what I thought were my last few minutes on Earth being pissed at the bravest guy I've ever met, then you need to let that go If I'm supposed to put the stuff I did to you behind me, then I think it's okay for you let go of not answering a phone call."

"Nine. Nine phone calls."

Dave sighed, and Kurt listened to him shift on his bed. "Kurt, let me ask you. Did you know what I was planning to do?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Did you know what Nick did?"

"Well, no, but-"

"No," Dave cut him off. "No buts. If you'd known what was going on, then, yeah, that would make you an asshole. But you didn't."

Kurt laid back against his pillow and silently took in Dave's words. It seemed much too easy to gain Dave's forgiveness after what had almost happened. But. But Dave didn't seem to be even close to angry with him, and he was talking like maybe he never was.

"Kurt," Dave said suddenly. "I really need to go. I can hear my dad up, and he won't be too thrilled if he comes in and catches me on the phone this late. And I'm trying to give the man's heart a break for a while."

Kurt nodded, then, realizing Dave couldn't see him, said, "It's okay. I'm glad I called you." He was. He felt a lot better than before he'd dialed the number. "I'll talk to you later, Dave."

"Goodnight, Fancy."

He grinned. "Night, Dave."


	2. Chapter 2

_Come outside._

Kurt took a deep breath, and shifted impatiently from foot to foot. This was such a bad idea. Honestly, he wasn't even sure what he had been thinking, because yes, he was pretty sure he'd aced his physics test, but paying attention to the lesson following hadn't been easy when paired with checking eBay every ten minutes. So if there was a quiz at any point in the next several days he'd probably be screwed - well, if he wasn't a genius already. They don't let idiots into NYADA.

Eventually he had won out against the other bidder, though, because there really aren't a lot of people in the world that can out-stubborn Kurt Hummel, and waiting for the package to arrive had been tortuous. He had a pretty good idea what Burt and Finn _both _would have said if either one had intercepted the mail and asked Kurt about the contents of the thin white envelope, so he'd had to guard the mailbox like a half-off sale at Coach and when it had finally arrived earlier that afternoon, he had immediately departed with one destination in mind.

Which was how he ended up standing outside the Karofsky residence.

The door swung open and there stood, to Kurt's immense relief, Dave, with his phone in hand, still staring at the message on the screen like he couldn't quite believe it. And when his eyes shifted to Kurt, the look increased tenfold.

"Wh-what are you doing here," Dave asked, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. Then, as if worried that he'd appeared rude, he added, "I mean, did I know you were coming by?"

"Not unless you've developed psychic powers in the last few days," Kurt answered. He held out his hand containing the envelope. "This is for you."

And with those few words Dave's expression passed from surprised to extremely wary. He eyed Kurt's outstretched hand but didn't reach for the envelope. "What is it?"

"It's a sweater."

"Kurt."

"Well, it could be. And, let's be frank here, it's not as if you wouldn't benefit _tremendously _from my-"

"_Kurt_!"

"Just take it," Kurt finally snapped, stepping forward and forcing the envelope into Dave's hand.

Dave stared at it for a long moment, almost as though he could guess what was inside, and when he withdrew the pair of tickets he stared at them in confusion. "Kurt," he said after a moment. "What are you doing?"

Kurt sighed deeply. "You know, considering it took me three hours of Googling to discover that the Panthers are a football team and not baseball like I'd assumed, and the fact that I had to dig into my savings to pay for them because if I asked my dad to buy football tickets for anyone other than, you know, _him_, he'd probably burn all my clothes, you're not really reacting in a way that I think is appropriate." He crossed his arms over his chest in what he hoped what an intimidating manner and frowned. "I mean, you'll have to provide your own transportation to North Carolina, but-"

Dave raised his gaze to meet Kurt's and for the first time Kurt realized that his eyes were not brown, as he'd always thought, but a sort of hazel with specks of -

Okay, time to get off _that _train of thought.

"Why did you do this," Dave demanded, and just like that, suspicion settled in behind his eyes, though he continued to stare at the tickets in amazement. "_Jesus _Kurt, the 50 yard line? These must have cost a fucking fortune!"

Kurt shrugged, and tried to ignore the pleased blush he could feel creeping into his cheeks and down his neck. He'd always liked giving gifts and it didn't really matter that now it'd be another three months before he could afford that Marc Jacobs jacket he'd been lusting after and saving for. He could always ask for it for a graduation gift, he decided. "Not as much as you might think," he lied smoothly. "Ebay."

Dave snorted. "Right." Suddenly he looked up at Kurt again and the suspicion was back. "You didn't answer my question. Why did you do this?"

"I just wanted to. Is that so bad?"

"People don't normally spend hundreds of dollars - and don't look at me like that, I know exactly how much these things cost - on people they're barely even friends with just for the hell of it. So. Try again."

Kurt pressed his lips together in a frustrated line and, though he was pretty sure he'd live to regret it in about 20 seconds, he slowly replied, "I just. You know, I felt bad about-"

_SLAM!_

The front door had opened and shut so quickly that Kurt barely had time to register what had happened before he was standing outside alone. He glanced down, and when he saw the envelope lying face-down on the concrete of the Karofsky's walkway, he snatched it up and banged so hard on the door that one of Dave's neighbor's stepped outside to see what all the commotion was about. He barely gave her a second look. "David," he yelled at the house. He was half-tempted to check and see if Dave had actually locked the handle, but he wasn't ready to face either of Dave's parents if they happened to be home, and he _definitely _wasn't ready to step inside the house where his friend had-

All of a sudden the door flew back open, and Kurt was once again face-to-face with Dave, who was looking just about as angry as he ever had in the past. "_What?_"

"What's wrong with you," Kurt immediately demanded. "I bought-"

"Do not say one _word _about those fucking tickets."

"I _bought _those tickets for you-"

"Because of your _guilt_, and Kurt, I don't know how to many different ways I can tell you to _stop blaming yourself._ For God's sake," Dave nearly shouted in frustration, "do you really have such a low opinion of me that you think I can't control my own actions, like you're my damn puppet master? Yes, Fancy, _yes, _I fucking loved you, but that doesn't mean that your silence drove me to anything!" He took a careful breath, presumably to calm himself, before continuing. "If I was that worried about it, so much so that I was going to take my own life if I didn't talk to you, I could have tried harder. I could have come to your house, showed up at McKinley, and fuck whether or not you wanted to deal with me."

Kurt didn't answer because the truth was that Dave's words made perfect sense. All his assurances, his defenses, he was _right_. But that still didn't tell Kurt what he was supposed to do with this acidic revulsion he felt when he thought about the many calls he had dodged from someone he had just offered friendship to. He'd needed to do _something, _which was how he had ended up on eBay.

"Kurt." Suddenly Dave's voice was soft and pleading, and he couldn't _not _look over. "I've spent a _lot _of my life blaming pretty much anyone but me for my fuck-ups. So p_lease. _Please. Just . . . Let me take responsibility for this one thing."

"Fine," Kurt muttered. They couldn't keep having this battle, or they'd never get very far with their friendship. "Fine. But you have to keep the tickets."

Dave looked like he wanted to argue but there was something in Kurt's eyes that made him nod. "Fine." Then a ghost of a smile graced his features. "Thanks. I don't think I've ever gotten something so cool before. Even if the reason I got them really blows." He sent Kurt a pointed look.

This was the perfect transition for the other thing Kurt wanted to talk to him about, so he grinned a little himself. "Actually, Dave, my guilt was only part of the reason."

Dave raised his eyebrows. "_Part _of the reason?"

"Right. See, okay. I was thinking about what you said the other day, about how if you'd . . ." He cleared his throat because the last thing he wanted was to get serious and maudlin again and just the _word _was tough to get out. "If you'd . . . died, then you wouldn't have been able to go to your game or whatever."

An strange expression crossed Dave's face but he didn't interrupt.

"And it got me thinking. You're seventeen-"

"Eighteen."

"Whatever. You're eighteen, and I'm willing to bet that there are more things that you want to accomplish than just watching some football game before you . . ."

"Die."

"Right. So-" Kurt paused to dig into his pocket and after a moment he withdrew a piece of loose leaf paper that he unfolded and held out for Dave to see. "Behold! My 'Bucket List.'"

"Oh dear God." Dave covered his eyes with his hand.

"_Listen _to me."

"I can already guess where this is going."

Kurt gave him a mock-glare, which was somewhat pointless considering Dave couldn't see him. "You're seriously trying to deny me the dramatic reveal? Shush. _Any_way, what I was saying was, that I think that you and I should each create a 'Bucket List.' And I thought, you know, we could help each other cross the stuff off. Be each others' motivation. We'd have to keep them somewhat doable, but still." He shrugged. "I've got a four day weekend coming up and you're not back in school yet . . ." His voice trailed away as, for the first time since he had created this idea, it occurred to him that there was a distinct possibility that Dave might just outright refuse. He didn't owe Kurt anything, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time that someone didn't feel up to indulging him.

Dave was silent for a moment as he took in Kurt's words, then he slowly lowered his hand and offered it to the countertenor. "Okay. Let me see your list."

Kurt passed it to Dave, feeling like bursting into applause. He was excited, he realized, and not just for the young jock. He'd taken his list _very _seriously, adding things in, switching them out for ideas he liked better. He'd decide to cap it at the Top 10 because four days wasn't anywhere near enough time to knock out everything he wanted for himself.

Dave laughed, distracting him from this thoughts. "Really, Fancy? Really. You titled it: 'Kurt Hummel's Bucket List (That Will Undoubtedly Be Infinitely More Creative and Exciting Than David Karofsky's)'? Them's fightin' words." Then he cleared his throat and began to read. "'Number One: Go to the top of the Empire State Building.'" He looked up.

"You already have a question?"

"Didn't you _just _go to New York City last year," Dave asked.

"I didn't have a lot of time for sightseeing."

"Which is weird, considering you have a picture on your Facebook of you and Berry at the Gershwin Theater." He smirked when he caught Kurt's expression. "That's right. Dave Karofsky knows shit."

"Okay, I'm not even going to comment on you recognizing the Gershwin Theater. Well, except to say that you have depths no one would have guessed. As far as the Empire State Building . . ." He flushed a little. "I _may _have rewatched _An Affair to Remember_ in the last couple of months."

Dave help up his hand to stop Kurt. "Okay, enough said. 'Number Two: Build a sandcastle.' You know, I actually know a thing or two about that."

Kurt smiled. "You do?"

"I'm deep, remember?"

"Right."

"'Number Three: Play a game of Poker.'" He glanced at Kurt again but this time didn't stop reading. "'Number Four: Sit through _The Tenth Kingdom_.' What the hell is that?"

"It's a miniseries I started watching with Finn a couple of years ago. Only the last two disks didn't work, so we never actually finished it"

"Greeeat," Dave muttered. "'Number Five: Stop taking crap from Kari from Starbucks.' I'm not even going to ask. "Number Six: Get-" His voice broke off and he looked up and over at Kurt in astonishment. "Who the fuck _are _you," he asked, looking torn between amusement and horror.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "It's about life experiences, David."

"Right, I'm sure 'Get high' was added for the _life experience _of it all. Anyway. 'Number Seven: Sing in the rain.' Okay . . . 'Number Eight: Ride a roller coaster.' Sometimes, Hummel, it really gives me a headache to just think about how sheltered you are."

"Next, please."

"'Number Nine: See a Broadway show.' Well, that sounds easy enough, since, apparently, we'll already be in New York City. And finally, 'Number Ten.'" He read it silently to himself first, and Kurt watched as his eyes softened. 'Number Ten: Change someone's life for the better.'" Without another word he spun on his heel and reached for the door handle, but Kurt's dancer reflexes caught his arm.

"Where are you doing," Kurt asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

Dave blinked. "Inside. Gotta get a pen."

"Now? Why?"

He grinned back at Kurt and gently nudged him with his shoulder. "Because. We can already cross off that last one."


	3. Chapter 3

They agreed to shelf everything until the following day because Dave would need to talk to his dad about the day or two that they would be out of town, and, though he didn't specifically mention this part, Kurt needed to talk to Blaine. His boyfriend had quite obviously taken his cues from Kurt where the former bully was concerned, and had forgiven him for what Blaine was cheerfully calling his "Neanderthal-behavior years" but Kurt had a feeling that he might not be so understanding about Kurt and Dave going on a road trip together.

"You're telling me," Blaine began the next morning in Kurt's bedroom as Kurt flitted from one side of the room to the other in his haste to pack as quickly as possible, "That you're actually going out of town with this guy who told you he loved you? That you're going to stay in a hotel with him, alone, and I get absolutely no say at all?"

"Well, it's not really that you don't get _any _say," Kurt replied, opening his closet door to examine the contents. He tried to imagine what sort of attire would be required for two guys attempting to complete the Top 20 things they wanted to do before they die and decided that he should probably bring a sweater. Or two.

"Oh, so I _do _get a say?"

"Of course." Should be bring the Prada trench or go without? _Without, _he decided immediately, withdrawing it from the stack on the bed, and returning it to the closet. He'd found the thing on sale for 70% off and still nothing compared, and he could just picture the look on Dave's face if he insisted on keeping it in his sights at all times.

Blaine crossed the room and sat on the edge of Kurt's bed, careful to remain twelve inches from the clothing. "Well, then I want to throw my vote into the Don't Go At All basket."

"I can't _not _go," Kurt answered, taking care not to roll his eyes. He turned to face Blaine. "It was my idea."

"So?"

"_So _I'm the driving force behind this thing - I can't back out." _How many pairs of jeans? _He opened his top drawer and withdrew three pairs and shoved them as tenderly as possible into his bright red suitcase. Then he threw Blaine a tight smile over his shoulder. "He needs to do this, and I need to help him."

"Kurt, if he's making you feel guilty, or at fault for what he did-"

"He's not," Kurt snapped, exasperation slipping into his voice. Honestly, what was the big deal? He wasn't going to _cheat _on Blaine with Dave, the idea was ridiculous. They were friends, and barely that, and Kurt had been with Blaine for over a year now. They were committed and that wasn't going to change because he was determined to help his (yes, more than slightly attractive - Kurt wasn't _blind_) friend get better. Because, though Kurt held tightly to what Dave said the first time he'd gone to visit him in the hospital (_"I'm really happy that you're alive, David." "Me too."_), he couldn't escape the knowledge that the only reason doctors did a 72 hour watch was because suicide attempts were often repeated-

No, he was not doing this to himself right now. Dave was fine, and in about 45 minutes the pair of them were going to begin checking stuff off their lists, and that awful afternoon would be nothing more than a distant memory of another life.

He sighed and turned back to Blaine. "I'm not doing this because I feel guilty. This 'Bucket List' thing is something I cooked up because right now David needs a friend more than anything else. He needs a real idea of how many people he can count among his support system and it means something to me to make sure he knows that he can count me." He crossed his arms defiantly. "Frankly, it comes down to one simple question: do you trust me, or don't you?"

A moment later Blaine was behind Kurt, wrapping loving arms around his waist, tucking his chin into Kurt's shoulder. "Of course I trust you," he soothed, pressing his lips to Kurt's neck. "You're right. I'm just being paranoid." He took a deep breath and, in a much lighter tone that was obviously forced, he cheerfully asked, "So. What's on your list?"

* * *

><p>Kurt knew a lot about Miss Manners. He knew what she would instruct him to do if an uninvited guest arrived at a dinner party he was hosting, how many pillows were appropriate for a guest room, how to politely decline a wedding invitation. So he had a pretty good idea of what she would say if she had known that for the second day in a row Kurt was standing outside the Karofsky residence, cell phone in hand, index finger hovering nervously over the texting keypad. He imagined that he could see her disapproving frown as she firmly reminded him that it was common courtesy to at least knock.<p>

_Come outside, _he sent again.

Immediately the door flew open, almost as though Dave had been waiting on the other side for his arrival, and the relaxed, boyish grin on the young man's face was a little staggering. Kurt could count on one hand, with as many fingers probably, how many times he had seen that smile before, and he couldn't pretend that it didn't kind of warm him a little from the insides. Strangely, even though it had been pretty much omnipresent their junior year, Kurt was finding it harder and harder to remember what his face looked like, twisted in an angry scowl. He decided this was a good thing.

"Are you seriously _never _going to knock on my door," Dave questioned, his eyes bright and teasing. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm kinda digging the Covert Operations aspect of all this, but if you really think you're going to take me out of town for a couple of days without my dad grilling us about the destination, I'm about to break your heart." He stepped back to allow Kurt entry into the house, but the smaller boy didn't move.

"You dad's home?" If Kurt was being honest with himself, he'd have to admit that there was a small part of him that had been half-hoping he would never have to come face-to-face with either of Dave's parents again. He had never met Dave's mom, but from the small picture Dave had painted of her at the hospital, Kurt was certain that this was a woman with whom he could never get along. And no, he had nothing against Dave's dad at all because he'd never forget the way Mr. Karofsky had stood up for him that day in Figgin's office, but the idea of looking him in the eye after everything that had happened filled him with more feelings than he could even identify.

Gone was Dave's chipper grin and the speculative stare that replaced it released a slew of butterflies into the pit of Kurt's stomach. He didn't think he liked this, the too-careful way that Dave was examining his expression, not to mention the flicker of recognition that came a beat later.

Before he could formulate any sort of comment, Dave's hand shot out and caught a firm grip around Kurt's wrist, and he pulled him forward, across the threshold. "Kurt," he began, almost _dragging _him into the living room, "I thought you meant it when you said we were friends."

"I did," Kurt squeaked in protest. He peered around the bigger boy and was relieved to find the room empty, save for the two of them. "I did," he repeated, somewhat more calmly.

Dave dropped his hand and the smirk he shot Kurt's way was so reminiscent of, well, himself, that he couldn't smother a small grin in return. "You did? And you figured you could do this successfully while avoiding all communication with my family?"

"I was hoping," Kurt muttered in annoyance, frowning when Dave took a step towards the kitchen. He lowered his voice. "He's in there, isn't he?"

"Kurt, come on. It's going to be fine."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Please? It's on my list."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Well, no," Dave confessed. "But if I had known you'd developed such a phobia about it, I would have put it on there. Dad!"

Kurt jumped at the sudden shout, but even as he tried to quickly weigh the pros and cons of darting for the front door, Paul Karofsky stepped out of the kitchen.

"David," he scolded, shooting his son an irritated look. "Was the yelling necessary? You knew I was sitting at the table reading The Shining."

"Sorry," Dave apologized brightly. "I had to get you in here before Kurt decided to make a run for it." He shrugged. "He thinks you hate him."

"Dave," Kurt gasped in horror. Oh God. Maybe he'd get lucky and the Karofsky's floor would open up and swallow him whole. However, when nothing happened, he turned his attention to Dave's dad. "Mr. Karofsky-"

"Paul," the man interrupted.

Kurt cleared his throat. "Um, Paul." The first name sounded odd on his lips, but he pressed onward. "David's just kidding. I don't really think you hate me." He tried for a smile that was hopefully convincing.

Paul studied him silently for a moment, and Kurt was assaulted by the realization that the 'I can see straight through your bullshit' stare Dave used on him before was hereditary. "Kurt, let's sit down."

All three found seats - Paul settling into a navy La-Z-Boy, and Kurt sitting beside Dave on the couch. There was absolutely no way Dave was going to leave him to deal with his dad, and at least if they were sitting this close Kurt was pretty sure he could catch David if he tried to take off.

"So, Kurt," Paul began. "I was planning to just remind you boys to be careful in New York. David's eighteen, so it's not like I could tell him not to go. And to be completely honest, I do think my son could use a few days away from all of this."

Kurt privately agreed.

"But, since I have you here," he continued, "there's something I've been wanting to say to you ever since I found . . ." His voice trailed away, and Kurt blinked when it hit him that Dave's dad wasn't having any easier time saying the words than he was. Paul glanced at his son, but not before Kurt saw the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for David."

"I didn't do anything," Kurt immediately objected. He couldn't accept credit for any of Dave's transformation. After all, he'd only seen the guy a handful of times since Senior Year had began.

Dave rolled his eyes. "Oh sure. He's willing to take as much blame for the bad as he can, but you try to give a little kudos and he turns all humble."

"I'm a complicated creature, David."

"I believe that."

Paul smiled at the boys' bickering before addressing Kurt again. "It'll be up to you whether you believe it or not, but honestly, Kurt, you've done more than you know. You could have cut off all communication with David after everything that happened at McKinley, and instead, you encouraged him, accepted his forgiveness. And I want to thank you for that."

Kurt flushed and glanced quickly at Dave as he realized that Dave must have told his dad about that day in the hall before prom. "It's really . . . Thank you. Too."

"Okay," Dave said, "well, as much as this obviously been for Kurt-" He paused to gesture to the deep scarlet that was spreading over the boy's fair features, "we're going upstairs."

"Upstairs," Kurt questioned as the pair made their way to the staircase. "What's upstairs?"

Dave gave him a confused look. "Uh, my room?"

Kurt stopped short, though they were nowhere near the top. Upstairs. Upstairs was Dave's room, and Dave's room meant- "You know, I think I'm going to wait for you outside." He made to step around Dave, but when the bigger boy refused to move, he found himself cut off from the bottom floor.

"No way, Fancy. Keep going."

Kurt clenched his jaw to keep from yelling at Dave to _get the hell out of the way, _then he took a deep breath to steady his heart rate and tried another tactic. "Dave, really, it's fine. Actually, I'm feeling kind of sick - I told Finn that the McFrappe run this morning wasn't a good idea, but you know how he gets when-"

"Kurt," Dave interrupted, and it was annoying how the corners of his lips turned up, like Kurt was being all cute instead of panic-stricken. "We have to go upstairs to get the list."

"I . . ." He swallowed hard, astonished when he felt the thick lump in his throat. He glanced up at the landing above them, and shook his head.

Dave silently took in Kurt's expression and - would wonders never cease? - he reached out and offered his hand to Kurt. "It wasn't easy for me at first either," he murmured as Kurt allowed the strong, heavy hand to close around his own. "I slept on the couch for a week." He took a step forward, gently pushing Kurt onto the next stair. "But then I realized-" Another step. "That all I was doing-" And another. "Was avoiding the inevitable."

They were at the top of the stairs before Kurt was ready, and suddenly Dave was leading him to another set of stairs on the opposite side of the hall. "I'm in our version of the attic," he explained off Kurt's questioning look. Without releasing Kurt's hand, Dave continued to lead him up to the next landing, and then to the solitary door on the left.

"Here we are," Dave quipped, letting go of Kurt's hand so he could gesture to the dark wood. "Home sweet home."

Kurt studied the door and firmly reminded himself that there was nothing scary behind it. Dave was here, standing beside him, and not in a motionless heap on the floor of his bedroom, pale and broken. It was fine. Really. Everything was fine.

As though guessing his thoughts, Dave reached over and gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "It's just a room," he said softly. "Four walls, a window. A tiny-ass bed that I've been begging my dad to replace for five years . . ."

"Right, I know," Kurt forced out shakily. And he reached for the doorknob.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Sorry this took so long. I was having real issues with parts of Dave's list. And also, I just really love the Pretty Little Liars books, which is why I almost always feature the name Ali.

After Dave's suicide attempt, Kurt's dreams had been plagued by flashes of the bedroom his subconscious envisioned for his former bully, and in his dreams there was a _lot _of red. Red posters of sports teams Kurt would never be able to identify, his red letterman jacket thrown across a messy and unmade bed. Red walls, a red bedspread. So the bedroom Kurt stepped into, the one that housed the real Dave, wasn't anything like he expected.

It was a lot to take in. The dark blue paint on three of walls, the plaid wallpaper on the fourth. No less than four lamps kept the room bright and Kurt couldn't pretend that he didn't approve of the style. There were no posters hanging, but plenty of pictures of people that Kurt assumed were his family: one of Dave and a girl with short black hair standing side by side in front of a lake, another of the two of them at Disney World, one of his dad, one of a very young girl, around five Kurt guessed, riding Dave piggy-back, both of them laughing hysterically. There were no pictures of his senior year football team, but one of McKinley that was obviously from the year before - zombie makeup was painted across all the young men's faces except Dave, who, Kurt knew, had joined the group for the _Thriller _number, but late.

God, that seemed like a lifetime ago, back when it seemed like the biggest fear Dave had was making a fool of himself with his dancing.

"Wish you'd been there," Dave asked, coming up behind him and nodding at the picture Kurt was examining.

"Yes," Kurt answered honestly. For so many reasons. "I'd have made a great zombie."

Dave chuckled softly, and when he turned to look, he caught sight of exactly the thing he feared.

The closet doors were open, and Kurt could see all the way to the back. There were a lot of shirts hanging, more than Kurt expected a guy like Dave to own (he'd pictured him as a "three-polos-and-one-dress-shirt" kind of guy), a large blue tub, a lot like the one Kurt himself had tucked in the back of his own closet; he wondered if the contents were similar, and blushed at the thought. There were ties strewn across the floor and a chess set on the top shelf, and Kurt wasn't sure, but he thought he caught sight of a McKinley letterman jacket shoved among Dave's other coats. Not that he was going to get close enough to find out.

A thick, wooden bar hung from one side to the other, and it was just too easy to imagine a heavy rope dangling from the middle. How long had David hung there? Did Paul have to cut him down? Had he stopped breathing, did his dad know CPR?

Had he left a note?

"Kurt," Dave said sharply, as though guessing his thoughts. "Please stop it. You're giving me a headache."

"I wasn't doing anything," he defended, but his voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

Dave rolled his eyes. "Right. Must have been my imagination. I'm sure you _weren't _just standing there, thinking about how I tried to off myself. Now, do you want to see the list or what?"

Kurt swallowed hard, and forced himself to turn away. Dave was right. This was supposed to be about their bright and shiny futures, not Dave's dark day of depression. Kurt had been there twenty minutes and already he was bringing them down.

He glanced at Dave's bed, and saw the single sheet of paper laying right on top and the corners of his lips turned up slightly. "Is that it," he asked, walking over to give it a closer look.

Dave moved to grab it off the bed, but Kurt was faster, and his hand closed around it first. But as he tried to read, he narrowed his eyes. "Honestly, David, for a big guy you have the smallest handwriting I've ever seen. It's, like, pixie-sized."

He had to give a little chuckle when Dave snatched the paper out of his hand and shot him a dark glare. "Okay, and Kurt has just lost his reading-privileges," Dave muttered. Then, in his normal voice, he continued, "'David Karofsky's Bucket List (Which Makes Kurt Hummel's List Look Decidedly Unimaginative and Uninspired).'"

Kurt smirked. "Like those aren't fighting words!"

"Just the truth, Fancy." He cleared his throat. "Okay, 'Number One: Go to New York City.'"

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and gave Dave an annoyed look. "Okay, you're not allowed to poach off of my list. I mean, how is that imaginative _or _inspired?"

"Not everything is about you," Dave returned, his voice light and teasing. "I've never been, and I always wanted to go. But, you know, my mom said it's filled with heathens, so . . ."

Once again Kurt could feel his blood pressure rising at the mention of Dave's mother. Seriously, what kind of woman was this?

The afternoon when Kurt met Paul for the first time, he'd been utterly flabbergasted. For months he had wondered what kind of abusive, narrow-minded asshole could have raised such a self-loathing bully, and the man in Figgins' office that day had been nothing like he'd assumed. Kind, understanding, compassionate. Gentle. He'd listened to Kurt and, more than that, he'd believed him over the word of his own son. And even then, Kurt could see that the man was doing everything he could think of to reach his son. He was a parent, a real parent, and Kurt couldn't pretend that he didn't remind him of his mother.

Really, the error had been Kurt's. Because he'd always thought that if anyone was going to embed it in Dave's mind that being Gay wasn't an option, was wrong for whatever reason, that it would come from the man in the family. But this _woman, _if she could even be called that, was the one breaking Dave's spirit; it was the _woman _that was the bully. And Kurt was pretty sure he hated her.

"Yes, well, your mother could use some educating," Kurt replied in a clipped tone. "In fact, lets not even talk about her anymore. Number Two?"

Dave studied him carefully for a moment then smiled, wide and happy. "Fancy, are you like . . . Pissed off on my behalf?"

"Let's just say that I'd really be quite happy if our paths never crossed. Number Two?"

"'Number Two: Return a certain item that doesn't belong to me.' Actually-" Dave's voice broke off as he crossed the room, and opened the top drawer of his bedside table. He pulled something out and shoved it at Kurt, unable to meet his eyes. "Here. Now I can cross of another one."

Kurt blinked and looked down at the object in his hands. It was the cake topper, the one Dave had taken from him that day in the hallway, and an odd sensation twisted in the pit of his stomach. Dave had kept it all that time? Why? Kurt had forgotten about it just a couple of weeks later, though at the time it had seemed strangely significant that his bully had taken the heterosexual pair from Kurt's fright-frozen fingers.

"Why do you still have this," he asked in confusion.

Dave shrugged, but somehow that wasn't enough of an answer.

"Dave?"

"Fancy, please," was Dave's short response, and his voice was so low and soft, so pleading, that Kurt felt a surge of guilt for bringing it up. He didn't understand why Dave was uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, certainly they had worked through more messy incidents than this one, but he didn't press any further. He was about to spend several days with the guy - he'd get it out of him eventually.

"Number Three?"

Dave shot him a relieved smile. "'Number Three: Get a tattoo.'"

"A tattoo," Kurt repeated blankly. Seriously? Kurt had always thought of permanently scarring your skin on purpose to be akin to biting off your nose to spite your face, but when he thought about Dave's teeth gritting at the pain, the muscles in his back tense and hard, the twisting was back. "What are you going to get?" Was it his imagination or did he sound a little breathless?

"You'll think it's dumb."

Kurt waited.

A light shade of pink colored Dave's cheeks. "I was thinking . . . Maybe a phoenix? On my wrist?" His cheeks burned a deeper red. "I read somewhere that it was a sign of rebirth, and . . . I dunno. I guess I thought, with all the shit that's gone down in the last couple of years, that it couldn't hurt to . . ." His voice trailed away. "It _is _dumb."

"It's not dumb," Kurt said quietly, impressed in spite of himself. "It's kind of, well . . ." He cleared his throat. "Amazing, actually."

Immediately Dave's eyes darted over to find his own, and as they met, hazel on blue, Kurt was sure he wasn't imagining the crackling static filling the air. He told himself that he wasn't surprised - that after the history he and Dave shared, it would be weird if they _didn't _feel connected, and that it was probably just a mixture of leftover guilt and mutual respect, now that they were both in a place to deserve it. Nevertheless, he forced himself to drop his eyes, before prompting, "So, Number Four?"

Dave nodded, lowering his eyes as well, to the paper in his hands. "Right. 'Number Four: Call my sister.'"

"Are you going to elaborate," Kurt asked, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, if we're talking about just calling to say hi, that could just as easily be done any other day, couldn't it?"

"I haven't spoken to her since the afternoon I . . . You know."

Kurt gaped at him. "You haven't spoken to her? At all?"

"Right, that's kind of what I meant when I said I haven't spoken to her."

"Why not? Is she-" He tried to think of a not insulting way of putting _a homophobic bitch _but nothing immediately came to mind. Luckily, Dave seemed to know what he was getting at.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. We never really talked about it, which is weird, because we used to talk about everything else. The little girl on my back in that picture-" He nodded at the picture Kurt had seen when he walked in, "Is my niece. Ali's daughter."

"She's cute," Kurt said with a soft smile. "You look like you're a good uncle."

Dave shrugged again and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"'Number Five,'" the bigger boy continued after a moment. "'Actually start a PFLAG.'"

Kurt nodded, remembering their conversation in Figgins' office what felt like a lifetime ago. In a way, he supposed it sort of was. "We can do that."

"Who invited you," Dave asked, but his lips were turned up, and his eyes were dancing.

"Like you could do it without me," Kurt tossed back. "You'd probably end up serving 'chips and dip' and using indiscernible sports metaphors." He lowered his voice an octave, and spoke gruffly. _"'Well, being out is like scoring a throwdown.'"_

"You do realize you were _on _the football team, right?"

"I try to block out all memories where I'm featured sweaty and disgusting."

"That makes one of us," it sounded like Dave muttered, but Kurt was sure he had misheard. "Just . . . Do us both a favor and leave the sports metaphors to me. Do that and you can co-create any program you want."

"Thanks," he said, his voice returning to normal. "Next?"

"'Number Six: Choose a college. Number Seven: Go on a date with a dude.'"

If Kurt had been eating anything at that moment, he would have choked on it so violently that any sitcom would have given it a stamp of approval. As it was, he had to settle on widening his eyes as big as he could make them. A date? With . . . With a guy. A _guy_. Logically, there was no reason he should be surprised. Dave was an eighteen year old boy who had only just been outed, so of course he would be thinking of the positive aspects of being shoved from his lovely closet, and the number one good part of all of it was the getting-to-go-out-with-someone-you-actually-like part.

Unbidden, the image of Dave, standing over him on Valentine's Day, a gorilla from the neck down, popped into Kurt's mind. He tried to imagine Dave doing that for someone else, for a boyfriend, perhaps. Sending a boyfriend love notes, and picking out cards specific for _him _(_You make my heart sing_), showering _him _with trinkets just so he felt appreciated.

He didn't think he liked it. "Number Eight?"

Dave was giving him that look again, the one that had already seen him too closely once, and Kurt tried as hard as he could to keep his expression clear. It shouldn't have been hard, because why should he even care if _Karofsky _wanted to take some other guy out? He didn't. He was just worried because it was a big step, and Dave hadn't really been out all that long. He felt, well, protective of Dave. And that was normal - no reason to feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless he felt himself flushing guiltily, and he looked away.

"'Number Eight,'" Dave continued after a moment, "'Ride in a Hot Air balloon.' And 'Number Nine-" He grinned a small grin and ducked his head bashfully. "'Get a pedicure.'"

Kurt stared at him blankly, then flew to his side, beaming. "A pedicure? Really?"

"Well, the guys brave enough to endure the ridicule are always talking about how rocking they are, and that dude on _How I Met Your Mother_ gets 'em, and I figure. I'm gay. It's supposed to be one of those things that I get a free pass to not be ashamed of anymore. Right?"

"Right," Kurt agreed, nodding emphatically. "Absolutely. You'll get no argument here. In fact, the last time I was in New York City, I found this amazing place-"

Dave laughed and held up his hands. "Alright, anyway. We can plan the details on that later. Right now we have bigger business to attend to." He stepped back towards his bedroom door, then looked back at Kurt. "Let's go."

"We're leaving," Kurt asked. He glanced quickly around the room, looking for Dave's packed suitcase, to no avail. "Where's your bag?"

"We're not going to New York _now_, Fancy. We're going up the road." He raised his eyebrows. "To Starbucks? Isn't there some girl named Kari we need to deal with? I figured we'd knock out all the local stuff tonight, and to New York first thing in the morning."

"Oh." Kurt paused, trying not to think of what Blaine would say if he knew Kurt was sleeping over at Dave's house. _But, _he assured himself, _it's not that different than staying in a hotel tonight. _"Okay. Sounds like a plan." He moved to join Dave, then cocked his head to the side. "What a second. Where's Number Ten?"

"Number Ten," Dave repeated, and it may have been a trick of the lighting, but he almost looked _deliberately _innocent. "What do you mean?"

Kurt shot him a disapproving frown. "Number Ten. For your list."

"Oh. Right. Well, I figured, we already crossed one of yours off, and I got the football tickets, so, you know. Fair is fair."

"Whatever, David," he muttered.

* * *

><p>As Kurt walked around Dave, and exited his bedroom, Dave nervously licked his lips. He'd wanted to jump out his skin when Kurt had seen the list on the bed, but thankfully, his tiny, illegible handwriting had saved the day. He didn't like lying to Kurt, no matter the subject matter, but it wasn't like the guy was giving him a choice. Kurt had said, in no uncertain terms on Valentine's Day, that the two of them would never happen. And so Dave could just imagine his reaction if he'd seen the last item on the list.<p>

_Number Ten: Steal Kurt from Bland._


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **I've decided that _The Bucket List_is offically AU from Choke on.

"Do you see her?"

Kurt glanced over at Dave and shot him a long-suffering look. His friend had been speaking in stage-whispers since they had entered the establishment fifteen minutes ago afraid that, despite the large crowd and almost deafening noise, anyone might overhear their incriminating conversation and rush to save Kari from the Big Bad Gays. Kurt had tried pointing out the ridiculousness of this thought-process, but when Dave's only response had been to blink twice and turn away, he had to assume that his arguments had gone in one ear and out the other.

"No," he whispered back, smirking in spite of himself. "Not yet." Of course, there were about forty-thousand people milling around the coffeehouse, so he wasn't sure if he should blame himself.

"Well if it isn't David Karofsky and his little girly man-friend?"

The voice was coming from behind them, but Kurt was sure of what he would see even before he turned. Blond hair, a stocky build not unlike the young man standing to his right, icy blue eyes. He would have been gorgeous if it wasn't for the huge douchebag aspect of his personality that made Kurt's tiny hands curl into fists as though they had minds of their own.

Kurt stole a quick look at Dave, who had gone ashen. His jaw was set, his eyebrows furrowed together, and God, he looked so small that it took every ounce of Kurt's self-control to swallow back tears of frustration. It wasn't right, the power this kid had over Dave, who had worked so hard, who had overcome so much just to be able to go out in public with Kurt without checking over his shoulder every three minutes. And this guy, this Nick, could just swoop in, and screw everything up without even trying.

"Karofsky, I'm speaking to you!" Suddenly Nick was standing in front of them, looking deeply amused, as though it was just so hilarious how his actions had driven Dave to try to take his own life. Kurt's eyes narrowed as it hit him: he could blame himself until he was blue in the face, but Nick was the one who had outed Dave, who had shared his secret as though it were an embarrassing piece of gossip. As though Dave had something to be ashamed of. It was the kid standing in front of him that was the reason Dave's mother thought he had a disease.

Kurt went to take a step forward, driven by something he couldn't identify, but he had failed to take into account how well Dave had gotten at reading him. The former jock moved quickly, and placed himself between Kurt and Nick before Kurt had even fully formed the thought.

"Dude, just get the fuck away," Dave snapped with more venom in his voice than Kurt had ever heard before.

Nick threw his hands up, palms out, but the arrogant grin sketched across his fair features spoke volumes as to how seriously he had taken Dave's outburst. Namely, not much. "Easy, man, I'm just joking."

"Well, I've never really appreciated your particular sense of humor."

"It's an acquired taste. Like coffee." Nick cocked his head to the side. "Or dick down your throat."

Dave didn't answer, but even if he had, Kurt wouldn't have heard. His heart hammered frantically against his ribcage, his blood racing in his ears. White-hot hatred seeped from every pore in Kurt's body and as he took a deep breath to steady his trembling hands, he saw more than heard the next word on Nick's lips.

"Fag."

Kurt didn't have a chance to think, he didn't pause to consider the consequences. Before Dave could stop him, he darted out from behind the bigger boy and launched himself at Nick, his tiny fists swinging with as much force as he could muster.

The sounds of the resulting CRACK echoed through the Starbucks the moment his right hand connected with Nick's left eye. He watched almost outside of himself as Nick stumbled backwards and bumped into a barista carrying a large tray of caramel macchiatos. As the drinks tumbled down around Kari, Kurt felt a firm hand clamp on his shoulder, and steer him out the door.

"Have you completely lost your mind," Dave demanded the moment they were safely inside the truck.

Kurt shot him a frown from the passenger side. "Do you really need to start the lecture right now? My hand is killing me."

"Of course it's killing you! You _punched _. . . I seriously cannot believe you did that. Nick's fucking huge!"

"I know," Kurt snapped, anger slipping into his retort. "I get it, it was stupid."

"You're damn right it was stupid," Dave returned sharply. "It's not like I would have actually let him lay a hand on you, but my dad isn't exactly understanding about violence after everything that happed at McKinley!"

"Well excuse me if I don't consider _homophobic slurs_appropriate conversation-"

"Okay," Dave interrupted, giving an unexpected chuckle, and he raised his hands up in surrender. "Okay, I'm sorry. I know you were only trying to help."

"I was." Kurt stared down at his injured hand as the reality of what he had done began to sink in: he'd hit someone. He'd actually punched Nick in the face, and okay, so his hand was probably broken, but . . . But it felt kind of good, to just react for once, instead of being the cool head amid the chaos. He'd never in his life _so _wanted to cause another person pain, and he tried not to think about Sebastian, a cup full of rock salt, and a damaged eye.

A soft sigh from his left, and Kurt glanced over just in time to see Dave slowly extend a hand of his own, and bring Kurt's injured one closer to him for inspection. Dave's hands were rough from years on the field and in the rink, but gentle, and Kurt's breath caught in his throat when Dave's thumb grazed his wrist.

Dave gave the smaller boy's hand a careful squeeze. "Does that hurt?" He grinned lightly. "You know, more than you would think would be normal?"

Kurt swallowed hard and shook his head, worried that, for whatever reason, his voice would shake.

Dave threaded their fingers together and squeezed again, pressing harder this time. "What about that?"

"No," he whispered.

Kurt wasn't an idiot. He really wasn't. He had known that Sam colored his hair, he'd known that Sebastian had been trying to get into his boyfriend's pants, he'd known that Rachel was wrong about _Music of the Night _for his NYADA audition. So he knew that holding his friend's hand shouldn't be making his heart race like it was trying to escape from his ribcage, so he made a real attempt at picturing his loving, trusting boyfriend, but having Dave so near made it hard. He refused to wonder why.

"Well, that's good news," Dave murmured a moment later, finally dropping his hand. "Means it's not broken."

"Good."

Dave shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and it was full minute before he cleared his throat, and turned the key. "So, we should probably get back," he said, though it was unclear whether he was talking to himself or Kurt.

"Sounds good," Kurt replied, relieved when his voice came out normal and strong.

"And Kurt?"

"Yes, David?"

"Thanks."


End file.
